Lost, Broken, Confused
by xjustxletxmexgox
Summary: Troy Bolton: perfect life, perfect girlfriend, perfect grades, perfect family. The guy had everything. And then there's me. Chad Danforth. Let's just say that my life is the complete opposite of my best friend's. Warnings: EXTREME ABUSE!
1. Chapter 1

Ok, so firstly, yes, I am aware that HSM is a kid's movie... And I'm in college... But it's got some very interesting characters and my plot muse went psycho with ideas... And as all writers know, when a plot muse goes psycho... But anyways. This story contains EXTREME abuse, which will only get worse in later chapters. Yee have been warned!!

* * *

Troy Bolton: perfect life, perfect girlfriend, perfect grades, perfect family

Troy Bolton: perfect life, perfect girlfriend, perfect grades, perfect family. The guy had everything. A hot girlfriend who loved him, good looks that made him the envy of almost every guy in school, great family who loved and supported him no matter what, and a principle's list student every marking period since his freshman year. The guy's got it all.

Me on the other hand… well, my name's Chad Danforth. I don't have a girlfriend. I'm lucky if I can pull through with 'C's'. Lets just say that describing my family is 'dysfunctional' is putting it way too mildly.

* * *

"Chad! Chad!"

Chad Danforth shot straight up, his heart pounding. "Yeah, mom?" He called out slowly, trying to find the light switch.

"Get down here!"

"It's…" He glanced over at his alarm clock. "Three o'clock in the morning!"

"Boy, get your ass down here! _Now_!"

Chad jumped out of bed at the sound of his father's voice. "Coming!" He scurried downstairs, taking just enough time to grab a t-shirt from the floor.

He ran down the stairs, and skidded to a stop in the kitchen. Both his mother and his father were sitting at the kitchen table, solemn and grim looks on their faces.

"What'd you do today?" Michael Danforth asked slowly, glaring at his son.

Chad shifted nervously on his bare feet, unsure of what to say. "Well, I uh… I… I went to school this morning… and then, um, I came home, took out the trash, made dinner, washed the dishes, did my homework, did a few loads of laundry, cleaned up the bathroom, took a shower, then went to bed, sir."

"What'd you forget to do?"

Chad took a step back as his father stood up. "Uh, uh, um… I uh… I didn't uh forget anything," He said quickly.

"Wrong!" His mother snapped. "What'd you forget to do today, Chad?"

Chad's mind scrambled to think as his father came closer towards him. "I… I… I don't know! I don't know!" He said desperately, inching his way back towards the stairs.

Michael's arm lashed out, and grabbed his wrist. "You're gonna tell me what you forgot to do today, or you can stay up until it's time to go to school," He growled.

Chad swallowed heavily. "I swear, I didn't forget anything! I did everything! I made dinner, took out the trash, I washed all the dishes, I washed all your work clothes and mom's good clothes, I cleaned the bathroom, and did my homework! I didn't forget anything!"

A solid back-hand hit his ear, making a ringing noise. "You forgot something, Boy. And you're not leaving this kitchen until you tell me what!" Another blow landed on his jaw.

"I don't know! I don't know!" Chad cried uselessly as more blows landed.

After many more blows (how many, he wasn't sure) landed, he finally collapsed to the floor.

"Please… I don't… I don't know," He whispered. "I don't know."

Michael grabbed his hair, and dragged him back into the kitchen, slamming his head off the tile before releasing him.

"Jana, light me a cigarette," He ordered calmly.

Chad started shaking as his mother obeyed. "Please, dad, no… don't, please… I'm sorry…" He whimpered.

Michael ignored his son as his wife handed him a cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth, taking a deep drag, before sitting on Chad's back, and pulling his shirt up.

Chad was shaking like a leaf by the time the burning cigarette touched his back the first time. He tried to keep from making noise as his father continued, but small whimpers and moans still escaped as the cigarette burnt away the skin on his back.

Two cigarettes later, Chad glanced up towards the clock, when his eye seen something on the stove.

"The gravy! I forgot to take care of the gravy!" He yelled, trying to squirm out from under his father before the older man could stick the cigarette on him again.

Michael paused for a moment. "That's right, Boy. I told you forgot something."

Chad let out a sob of relief. "I'm sorry, I forgot. I'll take care of it now, then can I go back to bed?"

Jana gave a short, harsh laugh. "You have to be punished, Chad," She said with an evil smile.

Chad looked up at her in disbelief. She laughed again at his look.

"What, you didn't think that was your punishment, did you? That was to get you to tell the truth. You're not going to be rewarded for telling the truth, Chad," She reminded harshly.

"Jana, quit your laughin', and start boiling some water," Michael ordered. He pushed all of his weight down onto Chad as the boy started struggling violently. "There's no gettin' around it, Boy. Struggle all you want, you're only delaying the inevitable. Don't worry; we'll punish you, and then you can go back to bed."

Despite his father's 'calming' assurances, Chad continued to struggle. He struggled for the five minutes it took the water to boil. He struggled as his father hauled him up off the floor, and over to the stove. For all the good it did him.

When Chad realized it was pointless, that there was no escaping, he pleaded, "Please, not my left, dad. I have basketball practice tomorrow."

Michael thought for a moment, while Chad waited, tense as a bow string, until Michael nodded. Chad let out a sigh of relief, which quickly turned into a scream as Michael moved faster than Chad could watch, sticking his hand in the boiling water up to his wrist. Jana shoved a rag covered in dish soap into his mouth, causing him to gag as he screamed, the noise now muffled.

It seemed like eternity. It was only about ten to fifteen seconds. When Michael let go of him, he fell to the floor, still screaming around the dishcloth, gagging as it fell into the back of his throat. He curled up into a ball, clutching his burnt right hand with his left, tears streaming down his face, still screaming.

Michael nodded, clearly satisfied with himself, and walked out of the kitchen.

Jana knelt down beside her son, who had taken his muffled screams down to mute sobs, and pulled the dishcloth out of his mouth. She gently ran her hands through his brown afro, before standing up again.

"Try not to forget next time, Chad."

And then she walked out.

* * *

Chad wasn't sure how long he remained on the kitchen floor, cradling his burnt hand to his chest. But eventually he pushed himself off the floor, still crying silently, and made his way upstairs.

He dragged himself into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him. He sat down on the toilet seat, and looked at his hand for the first time.

The whole thing was swollen, turning into something similar to a cigarette burn, with the skin tightening, and turning a mixture of yellow and red. He gingerly touched it with his other hand, and bit his lip to keep from screaming again. He stood, and turned the water on in the sink, waiting a few minutes for it to get really cold, before plugging the sink, and sticking his hand in.

He yelped, but the water quickly soothed the burning pain. He left it in for about five minutes, before pulling it out.

The swelling had gone done slightly, but it was still very noticeable, not to mention that he didn't think he could move his fingers at all.

He sank down against the sink, his head on his knees, his burnt hand against his chest, and cried himself to sleep.

* * *

"Boy? Boy, open this door!"

Chad jerked awake, rubbing his injured hand against his chest. He moaned quietly, before standing up.

"Boy, open this damn door!" His father bellowed. Chad rushed to obey.

"You spend the whole night in here?" Michael asked, staring at his son, who stood with his head bowed, cradling his hand against his chest. "Well? I asked you a question!"

"Yes sir," Chad mumbled.

"Lazy piece of trash. Hurry up and get ready for school." As Chad tried to sidle past him, Michael gave him a rough push, causing him to stumble against the wall. "What's the matter with you? Can't even walk right?"

Chad leaned his back against the wall, still bowing his head. "I don't know sir," He mumbled again.

"You don't know? What do you mean, 'you don't know'?" Michael yelled. "You stupid?"

Chad shook his head. "I… I just don't… don't feel good."

"Well, maybe if you weren't so stupid, sleeping on the floor all night. Hurry up and get dressed. You miss school, and I'll give you something to feel bad about," Michael threatened.

Chad jumped to obey, almost running back to his room. He quickly threw on a pair of jeans, and scrambled to find a clean shirt and hoodie. No doubt someone –probably his best friend, the golden boy –would ask him why he was wearing a hoodie in 90+ degree weather, but he'd come up with something. Whatever he came up with, it would also have to explain why he was going to be wearing gloves.

He scrambled around his room, pulling his box of winter clothes down out of his closet. He found a pair of black gloves, and slowly slid them on, more tears coming to his eyes as pain coursed through his entire arm.

He was trying to tie his shoes with only one hand, when his door burst open.

"Boy, are you –what're you doing?" Michael demanded.

"Tying my shoes," Chad said listlessly, not looking up.

"Why're you wearing gloves and a hoodie?! It's the middle of September in New Mexico, and you're wearing gloves! Boy, what's wrong with you?" Michael bellowed.

Chad stood up. "Well, unless you want everyone to see what happened last night, I don't got much of a choice." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he knew he had failed miserably.

Michael thought for a moment, before nodding. "Come up with one of your stupid excuses. I don't want any calls home. Understood? Now get down there, and get on the bus. Now!"

Chad ignored tying his other shoe, and bolted towards the door.

* * *

Troy was slightly anxious. Chad was missing another day of school… again. Darbus was already not thrilled with Troy's best friend's habitual absences, and today she had said that she wouldn't accept his essay –due tomorrow –late, no matter what the circumstances. Troy's father (the couch of the basketball team) had said that as much as he hated to do it, he'd have to drop Chad from the team if he kept missing practices. Troy knew it would kill Chad if he was dropped from the team. Chad lived for the game.

But those fears –the fears that he would miss the practice, would miss the essay –were unfounded. Chad strolled in fourth period, that stupid grin on his face.

Troy wanted to yell at him. Wanted to scream at him for making him worry. But underneath that grin, Troy noticed something.

He'd seen it before; he'd just never noticed it. Chad always said he was a clumsy retard; that he could trip on air if he wasn't careful. So Troy always ignored the bruises, and listened to the almost maniacal laughter as Chad gave him the typical response.

But something was different that day. The gloves and over-sized hoodie were the first tip off. Gloves, and a black hoodie, during the beginning of summer in New Mexico?

The second hint was the large, hand-shaped bruise around his best friend's neck. He wouldn't have even noticed it normally; Chad's hair and the hoodie kept it well hidden. But Chad went out of his way to make sure the hoodie was pulled up constantly, which had lead Troy to examine it as closely as possible without tipping his friend off.

The third clue came during practice. Chad had come up with some excuse to wear his outfit, only changing his jeans out for a pair of shorts. But when Zeke had thrown him the ball, Chad attempted to catch it with one hand. Only one. When Troy's father commented on it, asking if he needed a lesson in the basics again, Chad had only shrugged, and turned back into the practice game.

But Troy had seen the flash of anger and pain in Chad's eyes. After that, Chad got mean.

Troy stopped counting after the sixth time Jack Bolton had told Chad to take it easy. That this wasn't boxing class, or football. Did no contact sport mean anything to him?

Chad had just shrugged, and continued until Jack had been forced to remove Chad from the practice. Again, Chad had given that idle shrug, and casually walked off towards the showers.

Troy had followed Chad into the locker rooms, determined to make his friend tell him what was wrong. Nothing could have prepared him for what he seen as he entered.


	2. Chapter 2

Troy stopped dead, keeping silent as he watched Chad pull his gloves off. His eyes grew large at the sight of his best friend's swollen and inflamed hand. But what shocked him more were the tears that came to Chad's eyes as the mulatto-colored boy dropped to the bench.

"Shit," He moaned quietly, cradling his bad hand with his good one. "Damn…" He swore, tears still streaming down his face as he rocked back and forth slowly.

Troy slowly stepped out into the locker rooms. "Chad… dude, what the hell happened?" He asked hesitantly.

Chad jumped. "Troy, dude, what the hell, man? Can't I get a little friggin' privacy?! Shit!"

"Take it easy, Chad, I just wanted to see if you were ok… Obviously you're not. What happened?" Troy asked, kneeling next to his friend, and examining his hand.

Chad paused for a second, before giving that stupid laugh. "Just wasn't payin' attention last night. Was cookin' dinner and my hand slipped into the water I was boiling for the macaroni."

Troy gave him a suspicious look. "And you've been hiding it all day… why?"

Chad shrugged nonchalantly. "Didn't want people to know what an idiot I am."

"What the hell kinda dumb excuse is that?" Troy snapped. "What the hell, Chad, you think I'm friggin' stupid? What's goin' on with you, man? You're missing school all the time, you look like you never sleep, you're having all of these strange 'accidents', and now you get kicked outta a practice? What's wrong with you?"

Chad was silent, staring off into space. He refused to meet Troy's eyes as he fidgeted back and forth on the bench.

"Chad, come on, man. I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything, you know that," Troy pleaded. "Just tell me what's goin' on, so I can help you."

"You wanna help me, Troy?" Chad asked sharply, standing up, and turning away from his friend. "Just go back to practice, and don't tell anyone about how stupid I was. Other than that… I don't need your help."

"Chad, I –"

"Troy, I'm serious. I don't want your help, I don't need your help. I'll talk to you after practice."

Chad seemed to think that ended the conversation. He walked over to his gym locker, pulled out his clothes, and stalked into the showers.

He was shocked when Troy followed him in.

"Dude, unless you're a fag, get the hell out," He snapped.

"If you're really ok, then take your shirt off," Troy snapped back, with a sudden flash of insight.

"Uh… in context, you realize how queer that sounds?" Chad said quickly.

"Quit changing the subject. Take your shirt off, if you're _really_ ok. Or I could pin you down, and take it off."

Chad scoffed. "You actually think you can take me?"

Troy shrugged lazily. "I dunno, Chad. Let's find out."

Looking back on it, Troy would admit it wasn't exactly fair, and if it had been, Chad would have kicked his ass. But one handed, Troy had pinned him in a matter of seconds.

Getting his best friend's shirt off was another matter entirely. Between trying to hold him down, pin his arms, and get his shirt off with only two hands.

But he managed it somehow…

"Holy… holy shit, man… What the… what the hell…?" Troy whispered.

Chad's entire torso was an assortment of blue, green, purple, and black. Troy almost thought he could see a footprint implanted on his friends ribs.

Troy swallowed as he stood up. "How… how were you planning on explaining this one?" He asked hoarsely.

Chad didn't move from where he lay. "Got jumped on the way home from school," He mumbled.

Troy offered him a hand up. "Dude, seriously, what's goin' on with you? Are… are your parents doin' this to you?"

"No, man! You kiddin'? What the hell kinda question is that? You actually think my parents would do this to me?" Chad demanded, standing up on his own. "I told you I got jumped."

Troy's eyes went large as Chad turned his back to him. "Oh yeah? So whoever jumped you last night took the time to pull your shirt off and burn you with a cigarette?"

Cussing quietly, Chad spun around. "They ain't cigarette burns," He said quickly.

"So what are they?"

"Grease burns. My dad called me, I turned around and the grease in the broiler popped. Burnt right through my shirt."

"Grease burns? Really. Round grease burns that go into your back? With black burns around the edges? That's one helluva grease burn."

"Troy, let it go! I'm fine, alright?!" Chad snapped.

"No, it's not alright! Couch is thinking about throwin' you from the team! Is that ok?! Darbus is gonna fail you, and you're gonna have to repeat this year! Is that alright? 'Cause if that's not all alright, I suggest you start fixin' shit, Chad!"

Chad hesitated a moment, before grabbing his hoodie from Troy, throwing it on, and stomping out of the locker rooms.


End file.
